


Birth of Legends

by vision97



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Gen, Just Skyrim, M/M, Mages, Magic-Users, The Companions - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vision97/pseuds/vision97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allem is aspiring to be part of The Companions. Mikal is looking to join The College Winterhold. A chance meeting inspires them to strike a friendship as they each learn, grow and fight in the tumultuous land of Skyrim. Throw in a civil war, racism, prejudice, Alduin, bad luck and an unexpected Dragonborn who is the same age as them. Things just get interestin. One thing is certain, they are meant to be great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The meeting

Allem wondered what was so fascinating about the rain. Sure it never rained much in Skyrim, it was just usually covered in snow most of the year but still… everyone knew what rain was. Why did the Breton across the bar in the inn find it so…enthralling? While Allem was not one to socialise with foreigners especially with the task he had, he found himself standing next to the aloof man.

            “Mind if I join you, fellow wanderer?” Allem asked, wincing inwardly at how Nordic he sounded. He had heard many times that, to foreigners, Nords just sounded rude and barbaric half the time. The man looked at him with molten bronze eyes that seemed to delve into the soul of whatever they were looking at, which was him currently, Allem realised uncomfortably. The man smiled a bit,

            “Of course not, sit down.”  The man gestured to the seat across him. “And no, I’m not a wanderer.” Allem smiled,

            “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to call you.” That sounded like a good enough lie to him. No need for the stranger to know he was trying to make a good first impression.

            “Trying to impress hey?” the man said. What in Oblivion! How did he know! Allem felt his cheeks begin to burn. The stranger smiled,

            “My name is Mikal Talmere. And yours?”

            “Allem Weatherstorm” he mumbled. Mikal looked back at the rain and Allem picked up his courage.

“So where are you going?” judging by Mikal reaction, Allem guessed that was not a good question. Mikal looked nervous and then resigned.

“To the college of Winterhold.” Mikal said quietly.  Allem wasn’t entirely surprised but was curious as to the others state.

“What’s wrong with the College of Winterhold?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well you look as if that’s the last place you want to be?” Allem watched as Mikal sighed and shrugged leaning back onto his chair.

“Most Nords give me a bad time for wanting to study magic, calling me ‘elf lover’ and the like. I was actually chased out of an inn in Markarth because of that. So I just don’t like broadcasting my intentions to everyone so that I may be judged for who I am. It’s not like I had any choice in the matter… sorry that’s ranting on another issue.” Mikal paused examining him, “You aren’t like most Nords are you?”

“No, I’m not like most Nords. The only race I have a problem with is the Altmer. My mother was a Breton anyway. Besides, despite all the fear of magic in Skyrim, I like you so far, so I won’t judge for your “traitorous” lifestyle.” Allem finished smiling. The Breton relaxed and returned the smile.

“That’s good to hear that for a change. Where are you going, wanderer?” Mikal asked him.

“I’m going to Whiterun.” Allem answered.

“To join the Companions no doubt.” Mikal said. Allem regarded him carefully,

“How did you know? Are you reading my mind?” Mikal laughed outright.

“No you just look the type.” Allem felt his hands turn to fists on the table; Mikal continued laughing when he saw this. “That is to say, you seem forthright and courageous, ready to save the world, as a Companion should be.” Allem could not see any traces of mockery or sarcasm so he took it at face value.

“Umm… thanks.”

“Now that we know where the other is going. Where are you from?” Mikal asked. Allem was grateful for the change in topic and decided that he definitely liked the young man in front of him. Leaning forward, he regaled his life to other and Mikal did the same. They continued long after the rain had stopped and the sun had gone down each enraptured in the others tales, granted they both hadn’t lived that long. Allem learnt that Mikal came from a prominent city in High Rock and had a younger sister and an older brother. His mother had died recently from some weird disease they could not find a cure for, he had not mentioned his father and when Allem did not pursue the issue, Mikal looked so relieved that Allem almost asked out of curiosity. Mikal also said he could wield a sword just as well as he could wield his magic, though he wanted to change that.                                       Allem, in turn, told him about his early life in Falkreath. He narrated the many adventures and misadventures he had with his two brothers and two sisters. He spoke of his love for Alchemy which Mikal rebutted with his love for enchanting. It surprised Allem how much they seemed to have in common and even when they disagreed, they always listened and respected the others opinion. It was one of the more pleasant nights in both their lives. They went to sleep each promising to write the other when they arrived to their respective destinations.

 

The following morning, Mikal found himself humming quietly while travelling on his way to Winterhold. He could tell there was an unusual bounce to his step, especially for one with such a way to go still. It all spawned from the wonderful evening he had spent with Allem. In fact, he had been disappointed to discover that his new friend had left the inn before he’d risen. No matter, Mikal thought to himself, he knew where the other was headed, if he ever wanted to see the other sometime, he knew where to find him and vice versa.

For once, the sky in Skyrim was clear and the sun was bright but not overly so. Mikal decided to enjoy the weather and get as far as he could, however looking down the road he saw a distressing sight. There on his knees in the distance was none other than Allem, before what Mikal knew were two bandits. Allem looked bruised and battered; blood stained his steel armour and his blonde hair was now a muddy brown obscuring most of his face. Mikal was close enough to hear the thieves jeering but not close to be noticed just yet.

“Give us your coin little boy! We promise we will let you run to mommy!” one of them laughed. Mikal could now see how tense Allem was on the ground and his breathing seemed to be laboured. It looked like Mikal had put up a good fight judging by the bruises on one of the bandits’ face- few though they were.

“Damn you!” Allem spat at them, still not looking up. The larger of the thieves grabbed Allem’s head roughly and looked at him. For a second there was absolute silence, and then the thief threw him back onto the ground laughing.

“Oh boy, he wants to cry! You’re all bark and no bite boy! You need to be taught a lesson. Now hand over _everything_ you have before I take it of your corpse!” the man now had a large mace in his hand that seemed to glow greenish in the light. It was enchanted.

“I’d rather die!” Mikal saw the mace being raised and he had to act now. Digging into his magic he used telekinesis to yank the mace out of the bandit’s hand. The bandit turned in surprise only to groan as the mace collided perfectly with his face and fell flat onto the ground. He did not rise up again. Still maintaining his magic on the mace, he threw it at the second bandit who was smarter to dodge but did not expect a firebolt from Mikal’s other hand. She staggered and was unable to block or shield the next firebolt that threw her onto the ground. Mikal’s victory was short-lived however as she stood up again holding her burnt arm.  She glared at him and drew out her sword,

“Now you’ll pay!” she yelled. Before she could charge however a sickening squelch was heard behind her and a huge pool of red formed on her stomach. She fell forward to reveal a panting Allem holding a bloody dagger in his left hand. Mikal looked around and satisfied they had won the fight for now, ran straight to Allem. Allem’s knees buckled just before Mikal got to him so Mikal dragged him to a tree. While Mikal was pleased that Allem smiled at him, he noticed that his eyes were totally lost. Concussed then, Mikal thought grimly. Mikal put his hands on Allem’s temples and focused his little remaining magic. Streams of gold danced from his palm onto Allem and swirled around his head like fireflies. After a while, the light faded and Mikal could not push any more magic out of his body. Allem’s eyes looked focused and alert now and the purple bruises on his face and neck had faded but he still looked tired and was clutching his side. Mikal took out his two remaining stamina potions and a healing potion giving them to Allem; he also took to two magicka potions for himself and one to help his drained magicka regenerate faster. The magic from the potions helped Mikal stop the bleeding of the large wound on Allem’s side, nothing more but at least his magic was coming back faster.

“Sorry Allem, there isn’t much else I can do for now. Can you walk?” Allem grabbed his hand and pulled himself up only grimacing to touch his side. He took a few cautionary steps forward and, it seemed, deemed himself able to walk. Allem turned back to his friend,

“Mikal, there’s so much you have done already. Let’s get out of here before more of them come or these thieves wake up.” Despite the obvious pain Allem was in, he was beaming fully at Mikal. Reluctantly, Mikal followed and they began a slow walk to Whiterun. After a while, Mikal was able to heal Allem completely.

“You were really amazing back there, Mikal, I would have never made it out alive if it weren’t for you.”

“Umm…it was nothing really. I’m sure you would have done the same.” Mikal replied blushing.

“You must be really good at magic. My mother told me telekinesis was one of the harder spells and most mages found it to be more trouble than it was worth since they could only lift heavy objects for short while.” From what Mikal remembered, Allem’s mother was a Breton who moved to Skyrim when she married Allem’s father. Despite the fact that Allem said he grew up around his mother magic, Mikal could not get over a Nord, such as Allem, was interested in magic. Through his travels across Skyrim’s frozen map, he could count on one hand the number of Nords who had not sneered at him when they found he was going to the College of Winterhold.

“It is, but I never really had to learn telekinesis, I’ve always been able to do it. It’s instinctual for me.” There it was again. Allem had this awestruck face that never failed to intrigue Mikal. With curiosity like that, Mikal could see why Allem loved alchemy so much; it was all about discovery, mixing and matching, waiting for that “aha!” moment. Mikal decided he liked that expression on Allem’s face.

“Wow. That must have been so cool.”

            “Not according to my mother. Apparently when I was a child, I would magic things to myself if I didn’t get what I wanted. Once I created a tornado of pots and pans when they wouldn’t cook my favorite dish.” Mikal chuckled. There it was again. Allem’s face of wonder and amazement, then his face contorted and he burst out laughing. It was loud and free.

            “Divines! I can imagine it! You are sitting in the middle of this maelstrom of flying kitchenware demanding of all things….warm milk.” Allem gasped out then returned to his fit of laughter. Mikal was giggling too now, and the fast friends continued their way to Whiterun.

At midday, they approached the town of Whiterun and the friends regrettably had to part ways.

            “Try to make it to Winterhold alive, Mikal. You think Skyrim weather is bad, wait till you get there.” Allem said. Mikal only smirked,

            “Oh you’ve been there have you?”

            “No. I’ve just heard that it is very cold there.”

            “And I’ve heard that Nords are uncivilised beasts!” Mikal haughtily put his nose in the air. Allem only laughed,

            “Oh just go already you elf lover.”  Mikal feeling lighthearted decided to twirl Allem around using his telekinesis. It took a great deal of effort on is part, but it was worth it to see Allem’s stunned face as he found himself sitting on the ground.  Still deciding to be dramatic, he swirled about and began to walk away his nose still pointing upward.

            “Oh right, just leave us uncivilised beasts on the ground where we belong and forget about us.” Allem said getting up. Mikal could tell there was a question in there somewhere and he had a pretty good idea what it was.

            “I won’t forget. I’ll write when I arrive, if I arrive.”

            “I’ll hold you to that,” were Allem’s parting words with a smile.


	2. Allem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In truth, Vilkas was a tough trainer and during the day, it was hard not to want to kill the man.

 

 

Dear Allem,

As you can guess, I made it to Winterhold in one piece. I hope you have found your week in Whiterun to be pleasant. Please tell me you haven’t been thrown out of the Companions yet.

Yes, you were right. The weather in Winterhold is incorrigible! I don’t understand how one can survive this! The town itself is so small and sad; apparently it wasn’t always like this though I guess you, being a Nord, know all about those rumours. Why are mages always the evil ones?

Anyway, I heard about the dragon in Whiterun and rumours of a Dragonborn?  Interesting to say the least, and with this civil war going on at the moment, I wonder which side he will be on.

Please do write back and regale me with the adventures of the Companions, I’m guessing this wasn’t a one off thing. If you don’t write back , I will find you and drop you off a cliff!

I have to go now; apparently we have to take some trek into some crypt called Saarthal in order to learn about magical safety and all that. Boring!

Hope to hear from you soon.

Regards,

Mikal.

Allem could not keep the grin off his face as he finished reading the letter while walking into Jorrvaskr. He inwardly accepted that he had been worried for his new friend the whole week. He wondered nightly whether Mikal would make it to the college and also if the Breton would remember to write to him; if he even cared. Turns out the Breton did, and that made Allem ecstatic. His training with the Companions was hard, and it usually left him along with the other whelps dead tired and sulking for the first few hours of the evening. Tonight however, Allem strode into the hall with an airy stride.

            “Wow whelp, what has gotten you traipsing about? Was my training not hard enough?” Vilkas asked with a smirk on his face that revealed he was joking. In truth, Vilkas was a tough trainer and during the day, it was hard not to want to kill the man. At night though, his reserved but welcoming demeanour ensured Allem that the man was actually not trying to torture him. It was interesting to note though, that while Vilkas was the younger of the twins- his counterpart, a sort of recluse named Farkas- he was definitely the leader of the two and his twins was the brawn.

            “Got a letter from a friend, I met while coming to Whiterun.”

            “Oh, where is this friend?” Vilkas asked mildly.

            “He is at the College of Winterhold.” It seemed all the surrounding conversation stopped at that point to listen. Allem internally winced at his lack of foresight. During the week he may not have seen any indication of the Companions hating magic, but most of them were Nords so the idea seemed likely now that Allem thought about it. But, they did have the Dunmer with them so maybe…

            “Is he a Nord?” Ria, a fellow whelp, asked.

            “No. He was actually coming from High Rock.” It did not look like people were reacting badly to the news, Allem decided. All he could see were thoughtful faces amongst the group of four closest to him. He had been scared that he would have become an outcast for having a magic-using friend. It did not seem so.

            “I know I don’t need to say this, but be careful with magic users. Some of them are nice people, but they can be so disillusioned as to forget what is right or wrong.” Vilkas said looking deadly serious.

            “Magic can be a beautiful thing! Don’t judge people by their abilities, or blood. You of all people should know this.” The dark elf sighed out. Vilkas turned to him, eyes flashing.

            “I said nothing of the sort.” He grit out. The elf leaned forward and all but hissed,

            “No, the smart Nords never do. It is always a cleverly disguised version that roughly translates: Don’t trust magic, don’t trust elves.” Vilkas growled and grabbed the elf by the throat and Allem swore he thought he saw fangs. Suddenly the elf burst into flames and Vilkas yelped, removing his burnt hands from the elf’s body. The cloak of flames immediately died out and a shocked elf was left standing there.

            “Vilkas, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

            “Athis, I can assure you my brother does not hate magic or magic users. We just had a bad experience with them. I suggest you go back to your room, before you insides decorate our lovely hall.” Farkas spoke out from the hallway. Those were the most words Allem had ever Farkas speak with an audience. While the words had been spoken with an almost boring monotone, Farkas posture was of someone about to attack. His eyes were almost all black and reflected the flame of the fire-pit in the middle of the hall. Coupled with a malicious grin and clenched fists, Farkas looked savage, like a giant wolf. Athis had the sense to back out of the slowly and deliberately, disappearing into the sleeping chambers.

Attention returned to Vilkas who was staring at his slightly burnt hands, it looked like something a quick potion would be able to fix without leaving any scarring. Allem thought that Vilkas would be angry like his brother looked, but instead Vilkas looked sorrowful and guilty. Had he not been the one who had been burnt? It did not make sense to Allem at all. Looking around, Allem noticed that everyone except those in the inner circle looked beyond terrified. What had he missed?

Farkas approached his brother slowly and put his hand on Vilkas’ shoulder. Vilkas appeared to shrink away from the touch and Farkas called out him,

            “Vil, it’s okay.”

            “No, it isn’t.” Vilkas replied quietly. Farkas put his hand on Vilkas arm and guided him back to their rooms,

            “Let’s sort those burns out.”

Typical big brother, Allem thought as Farkas led Vilkas to their rooms. The atmosphere in the hall had turned awkward to say the least. The quiet was almost unbearable for Allem.

            “Allem, but you must heed Vilkas’ warning.” Nadia pointed out stubbornly. Nadia struck Allem as your stereotypical Nord; stubborn, short-tempered and uncivilised. The thoughts were harsh for someone who had only spent a week with her but Allem could barely stay in a room for five minutes without her saying something that would grate his nerves and make his blood boil. The same could have been said for everyone else in Jorrvaskr. Except or sharing information about tasks, no one ever spent time with her.

            “I know I can trust him Nadia, he saved me from bandits on my way here. He fought them and won, and then he healed me till he was exhausted. After that he walked with me to Whiterun. He isn’t some Thalmor agent, just a Breton wishing to further his studies, which happen to be in magic.” Nadia sneered at him and called him a traitor. Allem could feel his anger growing. How dare they!

            “If he truly is your friend then hold onto him dearly young one. True friends are hard to find, especially ones who will be there without being bound by honour or victory but by loyalty. If he is such a person, his practicing of magic is irrelevant. Magic isn’t a curse, it never was. We Nords may not realise it but even we have it, just a different kind. Just as they are different types of people, evil and good, they are different types of magic. Don’t pay them any heed, if he is your friend, keep it that way.” The voice of Kodlak echoed throughout the hall. His voice had a gentle strength to it that spoke of years of experience and an unquestionable wisdom. Allem could not find the words. Kodlak, the Harbinger, had spoken to him!

            “Um, thank you sir.”

            “Ugh, don’t call me sir. You remind me just how old I am.” Kodlak replied chuckling. Allem felt himself turn beet red.

            “Okay, um Kodlak.” He turned around and fled the room, hearing snickers behind him. He did not really care though. He had a letter to write and that brought a smile to his face.  

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment.


End file.
